


Hard Times Come Again No More

by Maesonry



Category: Dead by Daylight (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Awkward Romance, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Abuse, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Evan’s Dad Is The WORST, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Moral Decay, Period-Typical Homophobia, Pre-Canon, Tragedy, Tragic Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-19
Updated: 2019-12-02
Packaged: 2021-02-13 06:23:26
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21489811
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Maesonry/pseuds/Maesonry
Summary: The MacMillan mines are dead and abandoned, left to rot, forgotten by the world. But a hundred years ago, before they were the site of the greatest massacre in mining history, they were mines just like any other.Save for the story of two young men there, who were in love.
Relationships: Evan MacMillan | The Trapper/Jake Park
Comments: 6
Kudos: 57





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired directly by the Trapper’s new lore, and Jake’s miner outfit. Because I can’t resist tragic romance

It was not quite autumn. Summer still stretched long, almost languid, the sweltering heat marking every day at the MacMillan mines with sweat, and occasionally, with blood. There was no sense of night or day, this deep in the mines. Time passed without meaning, measured by swings of the pick and ever growing exhaustion. It was hard, backbreaking labor, and it was done for less than quarters an hour. But still, the men stayed. The laborers in the mine, the machine drivers, the smeltery workers. They lived and died under Archie MacMillan’s iron fist and brutal reign; in the Hard Times, they had no other option. 

Evan MacMillan was nothing like his father. Where his father relished in cruelty, Evan believed in fairness, in good hours and good pay and treating men like men, not maggots. And, unlike his father, he believed in having friends, too. Friends with the workers at the mine. Something that his father would have beaten and broken him for- something his father had certainly tried to do, but it didn’t work. Evan was defiant. 

And in the wee hours of night, when his father had left the supervising duty to him, Evan went down into the mines to see his friend, Jake.

“Evening, Evan,” Tom greeted, waving from his spot near the corner of the main entrance. He had a cigarette cupped in one hand, the flame nearly burning his skin from where it was held close. The smell of the smoke was nearly indistinguishable from coal dust and kerosene, but as Evan stood off to the side, it smelled familiar and comforting. 

“You trying to burn yourself or something?” Evan snorted, and Tom let out a raspy laugh, devolving into a dry, pained sounding cough at the end. It wasn’t from the cigarettes, but everyone would pretend it was- maybe it was easier that way. Nothing else for it, Tom would say, and the other workers would all laugh and try to forget about it, forget that the mines were killing them. Evan wanted to say, the union is coming soon and you won’t have to hide behind cigarettes that you hate. The union is coming and it will have good wages and living hours, and things will be better soon.

But tonight wasn’t that night. No, tonight was just one night of many, so Evan pretended not to notice, like he always did, even when the guilt ate him up inside. He declined the offer of a cigarette, and glanced to the mine entrance.

“I’m going down,” Evan said instead. Some nights he supervised the refinery workers, or the loaders, but tonight, he would be down in the mines. It was also a fair warning, unsaid but understood, of, _if my father checks up on everyone, I won’t be there to protect you guys from him._ As if Evan even could. In Archie MacMillan’s eyes, his son was just as disposable as the rest of the workers. And he wouldn’t hesitate to remind Evan of that. 

Tom nodded. Gestured to the minecart with his free hand, and said, “Get on, I’ll send you down.”

Evan said thank you, and so he went. 

The trip down to the mine was uneventful, as it always was. The temperatures gradually rose, from the muggy outside to a slowly smoldering dry heat, higher and higher. Evan passed by countless workers, some old, most young, some tucked into corners for a brief moment of rest, others watching him warily. By the time Evan reached his destination, he was grateful for his thin layers, sweat already forming to combat the ever present heat of this deep in the mines. But, still, he had a slight smile on his face. He hopped out of the cart, waving to Bob and Jeremy at the bottom, passing by Will, saying hello to Adam. Today may have been uneventful for Evan, but it seemed like it was a good day for the workers, and that meant it would be a good day to Evan too. 

“Look alive, everyone! The boss is here!” one of the new workers called, but was quickly smacked over the head. 

“‘S just Evan, Shortie. Save that for Old Mr. MacMillan.”

Evan turned the corner of one shaft, going for an offshoot, and grabbed the scheduling clipboard hanging on the side. Jake’s name was written for the east tunnel, probably scouting for further digs. Evan made his way there quickly and without issue, greeting more of the other miners along the way. Eventually, he came to a stop, his walk slowing to something of an amble, his smile notching up a few inches when he heard Jake’s voice humming a tune. 

“...Many a day, you’ve lingered,” Jake mumbled, “around m’ cabin door…” then rose his voice, “Hard times-“

Evan’s voice, adding in, “-come again no more.”

Jake jumped, sharp enough that he slammed his arm off the wall and let out a startled curse as he spun around and glared at his friend, “Evan! Jesus, you scared the piss out of me.”

“What? Can’t stand the sound of my singing?” Evan heckled, but there was no malice behind it, just a sort of relaxed friendliness, as Jake laughed and cradled his arm, grinning. He was covered in all manner of dust, dust from the coal and the iron, oil from the mine parts and even what must have been kerosene oil from his lantern. There were new bruises on his elbows, and crimson stains on his top, but his eyes were still shining and- and most importantly, he didn’t cough. Every time Evan came to see him, there was always that fear, lingering; that there would be a cough, that Jake had finally developed what everyone else seemed to get, that he’d be thrown out to be replaced. It hasn’t happened yet, and if Evan was still careful with how he managed the shifts, it never would. 

Hopefully.

“I can’t take a break right now,” Jake finally dropped his arm, leaning against some exposed rock, “I’m in the middle of surveying this section for tomorrow,” tapping his knuckles the stone, coal staining his fingers. 

“It’s okay,” Evan hurried to say, “It can wait, can’t it? Besides, I’ll cover for you on the shift papers.” 

Jake considered this for a moment. He always did, every time. And yet, every time he would heave a sigh like he was put upon, and go, “Well, as long as it’s not a habit.”

Sometimes, Evan wondered if the other workers knew. They must’ve known something, or at least suspected something. But maybe they were too afraid to point it out, or maybe they respected him too much. Evan wasn’t going to ask, and he wasn’t going to ruin the time by thinking about it. Instead, he gave an easy laugh and sat down on the ground, where Jake followed. The small tunnel was dimly lit, and Jake pulled out his lantern to light it, a little flame right between the two of them. Just enough, actually, for Evan to pull out the paper he’d hidden in his pocket, the pencils worn down to nubs, setting it against the flat surface of rock. He looked over to Jake. Studied him, the way his lips curved, his eyes lingered, the crease in his brows smoothing out. Evan had stared at his friend for ages before, and probably would stare for ages again. Something about it felt nice. It was just something friends did. Like sketching each other, too. Evan must have had miles of drawings of Jake by now, dotted around, hidden under floorboards and in box lids. Never enough. Something about Jake made Evan itch to put to paper.

So, as always, he drew. Drawing was defiance, the sign that his father couldn’t break him, and drawing Jake made him feel like the spirit would never be broken. 

Time passed. They spoke of this and that, made jokes, told dumb stories and, enjoyed each other’s company for as long as they could. The flame of the lantern felt like it could burn forever. Eventually, they’d both have to leave, pretend this never happened but- but for now, in their own little world, it was good.

“What are you drawin’?” Jake peered over, through sleepy, half lidded eyes, eyelashes framing his gaze like some kind of tired- <del>angel</del> thing. Evan looked away, looked back to his drawing, and cursed into graphite covered fingers because he still hadn’t managed to capture Jake right. He never did. But still, he pushed the paper forward.

“You.”

Jake leaned down, looking at it curiously, shoulders pressing against Evan’s own, “You always draw me. Doesn’t it get boring?”

No, never.

“What? Think I’ll get tired of your sore face?” Evan said instead. Jake kicked him.

“Lay off. I’ve been taking care of my baby sister, alright? I haven’t had time for any stuff like beauty sleep.”

The unsaid, I’ve been working more hours to take care of her, she’s sick, the medications always cost more and more, and I feel like I’m going to drop dead at any moment. The union was coming, Evan wanted to say, but it would never come soon enough. So he just smiled with Jake, and they didn’t talk of that any more. Instead, Jake grabbed the drawing, staring at it. Studying it. Tracing every line with his eyes. 

“It’s not very good,” Evan excused-

“I think it is,” Jake mumbled. He held the paper like he’d never seen anything like it before, like no one had ever given him the time of day, and then he looked up, smiling, “Mind if I keep it?”

Evan wanted to say, you never have to ask. But that felt too friendly. Maybe. Evan didn’t know. He just shrugged and smiled back, and Jake carefully folded and tucked the paper into his belt bag, like it was a national treasure. Then, he looked up with something that could only be called tenderness, in the dim lighting of the tunnel, the way the yellow or the flames danced off his face and his hair framed it. Something in Evan’s heart twisted and pulled, and he didn’t know what it was, but as he stared at Jake, he wasn’t sure that it was a bad thing.

Eventually, they both stood up. Eventually, they both parted ways. But Evan promised, as he called to Jake, that he would be back soon. 

He always did.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning for the period typical homophobia and homophobic language. Evan’s dad is a slur machine, and I want him dead

The days had passed. Long days, hard days, laboring through sunrise to sunset, and even in the night inbetween. And today, Evan felt like he was going to be sick. He was sitting in a restroom, the door locked behind himself, and he was gripping the sink so hard his knuckles _ached_. There was a mirror, covered in grime, but Evan didn’t even dare to look up into it. Not again. His stomach still roiled dangerously, the most terrifying, frigid iciness that he had ever felt. Worse than thinking about his father finding out about the union, worse than when his father _had_ found out about his ideas. It was heavy like a rock, like cold iron, laying in his stomach and flooding his entire body with fear. Denial, too, denial that was the vomit in the sink, still on the edges of his mouth. Evan gripped the sink harder. 

He knew why.

The day had started early, Evan going into town on his father’s behalf. His father said he would ‘learn better’, that way, if he could talk to the investors, the merchants, the people that worked with or under the MacMillan iron grasp. But, Evan knew that it was a double-edged task. His father wanted time _alone_ with the mines. Time alone with the miners. If one disappeared, no one would notice. Accidents happened all the time, at the MacMillan estate, and that far underground, no one would hear the screams.

Evan had never felt so grateful that Jake wasn’t working today.

And that had been the same thought that propelled Evan forward, down the street, another meeting come and gone. It was always the same; always oily grins and shifty words. And when it wasn’t, it was terrified eyes and frantic agreements- yes sir, of course sir, the raised prices aren’t a problem sir. Evan wasn’t sure which one was worse, but both left a horrible taste in his mouth, like copper and dirt. So, after another meeting, he’d decided to try and visit Jake. Just for a little while. No one would mind.

Jake worked another job at a mechanic shop, he’d once said. Evan had laughed, trying to imagine his scrawny friend under some car, but Jake just rolled his eyes and elaborated, _my friend works there, I help out when I can_. The word friend, though, always seemed to make Evan’s stomach twist. Of course Jake had other friends, friends outside of Evan. But, he still didn’t like to hear about them. Or think about it. Evan’s pace was quick down the street, but not a run. People always seemed to get out of the way when he was near, and maybe it was his height or the set of his brow, or maybe it was Jake’s teasing words, _they can’t stand your ugly mug, pal_. 

Either way, the mechanic shop had come into view. It smelled similar to the mines, in some ways, but different in so many others. Oil and smoke, not dirt and blood. Evan lingered outside for a moment, but pressed forward, walking through the door and into the garage. He spotted Jake the instant he entered, and Evan opened his mouth to shout a greeting, and-

And then he stopped. His mouth, frozen, eyes gone a little wide at the sight. Because, there was Jake, yes, and right beside Jake was someone else. Very, very close to Jake. Close enough that their sides touched, and the large man had an arm draped casually over Jake’s shoulder, snatching a wrench from Jake’s hands. It was an innocent gesture- nothing meant by it. But, as Evan stared, he felt something crude curdle in his gut. Something familiar and unwelcome and yet, like a fire roaring to life, loud and brash. Anger.

“Ay- come’on, Jake, give it ‘ere,” the large man joked, and Evan tried to blink away the way his vision shook and tunneled. David, the man’s name was David- the name tag, focused on for a moment, but then Evan was looking back to his face, that smug face, eyes that were looking right at Jake and teasing and- _no_. The anger brewed into rage, red at the edges of his vision, and Evan didn’t realize he was moving until he was halfway across the room, _shaking_, his hands balled into fists. Something felt like it was whispering in his mind, urging him onwards, calling for blood and violence, and Evan stalked forward. David had no right, no right being that close to Jake, touching him at all, no goddamn right- 

-not when Jake was _his_.

Evan froze. The thought was like a gunshot, like a steel spike shot into his skull. Nausea settled into his stomach with the realization. Jake looked over then, spotting Evan and smiling wide, beckoning him over. No, no. Evan couldn’t tear his eyes away from Jake’s face, the way his cheeks looked warm and his smile welcoming, and, everything, too much. Evan began to back up, horrified. He knew what this meant. It couldn’t be- not him, no, not Evan, he wasn’t one of those people, no-

“Evan?” Jake called, worried now, seeing his friend’s terrified expression. But the sound of his voice made Evan’s heart twist too, and- and he couldn’t take it. He had to get away, now, and so he ran to the first room he could find, the bathroom, slamming the door behind himself so hard that it rattled in its frame. His shaking hands locked it, and then went to his mouth and throat, trying to hold in the bile. A glance up at the mirror, though, at his face, and it was too late; the vomit burned all the way up, and Evan washed it away down the sink with disgust and shame. 

And so here he was. Still holding onto the sink’s edges, still shaking, unwilling to leave. He was afraid. If he left the room, then Jake would surely see what Evan was, he’d notice that Evan’s eyes lingered too long in certain ways or- all the pictures, oh god, each one of Jake, must have been hundreds- _he couldn’t let his father find out_.

Evan’s father had a word for people like that. Or, maybe many words. His father always had words about those he deemed lesser, and he never hesitated to say them. Fruit. Queer. Homosexual. Sodomizer. Faggot. Evan felt his hands shaking again, as he pictured his father, pictured the man’s hatred and contempt. Evan wanted to be sick all over again. That wasn’t him- it couldn’t be him, it wasn’t, it _wasn’t_. Even as he tried to deny it, as he pushed against the idea- he couldn’t. He wanted it to be wrong. He didn’t want to be _one of those people_. But then, he’d think of Jake again, and it was like an inferno in his chest, blazing with warmth. Like a lantern fire. 

“I love him,” Evan choked out. If he was anyone else, he would have cried in utter frustration and despair. His face was torn between hatred, sorrow, and- a little flicker of hope, which had no place being there. Bile churned in his gut again, but this time, none came out, as Evan rose his eyes back up to the mirror. To the storm of emotions in his eyes. The hatred was all gone, but the denial wasn’t, and painted in every line of his face was guilt. A moment passed, and the guilt dissipated, replaced by anger. Anger at himself, and anger at his father- anger, mostly, at the world. The fire inside smoldered so hotly it hurt, but Evan stubbornly refused to even think of extinguishing it. The thought of being _one of those people_ was horrifying and made him want to ram his head through a wall, but the thought of getting rid of Jake was even worse. That would solve it- but Evan would never, ever dream of doing that.

Jake was his friend. Jake was _his_ friend. Even if the man made Evan’s heart clench in the way only a woman should’ve, even if he had such light looking lips and small frame- it didn’t matter. Evan wouldn’t throw him away because he was scared. So Evan, stubborn, willful Evan, decided that he would hold the fire close, no matter the cost. No matter what happened. He pushed back from the sink, and pushed all those thoughts from his mind, turning to the bathroom door and walking out. Back to Jake. A new feeling, buried deep in his chest, a little steady lantern flame, ignored.

But the problem with holding flames close, is that you will inevitably be burned.

**Author's Note:**

> Might be slow to update later on because I quite literally have to unlock the new Trapper lore so I can fully write the later chapters


End file.
